


It's Not Irrelevant To Me

by theSeventhStranger



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drunken sex, Experienced John, First Time, Hand Jobs, It's very light, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, POV John Watson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post HLV, Post-Season/Series 03, Sex Talk, Sherlock and John getting it on, True Love, Virgin Sherlock, totally consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSeventhStranger/pseuds/theSeventhStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***A drunken talk about masturbation turns into something more.***</p><p>“What was that?” John said rather loudly. He wasn't going to let Sherlock so easily off the hook this time.</p><p>“I said, it's not irrelevant.” Sherlock was still mumbling, still not looking up.</p><p>John tried for a moment to make sense of this, but quickly decided he couldn't.</p><p>“How the hell is my jerking off relevant to you?” </p><p>For a long moment, Sherlock just kept looking down at his drink. In a swift motion, he then finished it off in one big gulp, although the glass had been almost half full.</p><p>“Let's talk about something else.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Irrelevant To Me

“Is that your-” John made a circling gesture with his hand, causing some of the scotch in the tumbler he was holding to spill out over his trousers. He looked down at the wet stain but made no motion to wipe it dry.

  
“-fourth or fifth from this bottle?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, causing John to giggle uncontrollably for a while.

“Funny.”

“Thank you,” said Sherlock primly, looking pleased.

They'd been drinking for a substantial amount of time now. Far too long. Far too much. John's head was spinning. He hazily wondered how Sherlock was faring. He had proven before to have a much lower tolerance to alcohol than John, and as far as he knew, they'd been holding a fairly even pace throughout the evening.

John refilled his glass, then held it up, looking Sherlock in the eye.

“To your brother,” he said, faintly aware he was slurring quite significantly now.

“Hell no. We've been drinking to the finlsation,” Sherlock frowned and tried again, “to the _finalization_ of your divorce, and to the lawyers, and to all and sundry tonight. But I refuse to be dragged down to the point of toasting Mycroft.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in a superior gesture that reminded John of none other than Mycroft himself. This – the mannerisms, the way they carried themselves – was really how most of the brotherly semblance presented itself, he had always thought.

“He saved me, Sherlock. If it hadn't been for Mycroft and his connections, Lord only knows how long this shit would have taken.”

Sherlock looked disgusted, but made a slight, humming sound that John took as confirmation that even Sherlock, somewhere deep down, knew that this was true.

“I'll drink to your freedom, though,” Sherlock said and held up his tumbler with a dangerously swaying hand.

“To freedom.” John emptied his glass, coughing a bit as the strong liquor made it's way down his throat.

“When do you plan to start dating again?”

John squinted his eyes to look at Sherlock. “Dating? No.”

He shook his head for emphasis, but the motion made him feel slightly sick. He stopped, drew a deep breath.

“I've just managed to escape in one piece – barely – from a marriage to a woman who turned out to be a grade A psychopath with terrorist connections. Dating is not exactly on the forefront of my mind.”

“But you want... that,” Sherlock said slowly. “The wife and the two point one kids and the-”

Sherlock stopped himself. “I'm sorry,” he said, and John thought one certainly didn't hear those words too often from Sherlock's mouth.

“I'm sorry about the baby, though.” Sherlock was looking down, and John could tell he was uncomfortable.

“That's alright,” John said. “I'm over it. In a way, I'm actually relieved, you know. Had made everything even more fucked up if it had been mine.”

Silence ensued. John let his head fall back into the backrest of the chair. His eyes were getting heavier by the second. Perhaps he could just close them for a moment-

“But you want to have sex,” Sherlock said in a matter-of-factly tone, causing John to suddenly feel much more awake. He opened his eyes, looked straight at Sherlock. They had never before even come close to this subject.

“You need sex on a regular basis. If you're not dating, then how will you get it? Your high moral standards, combined with your rather strong need for validation through sexual relations, seem counter intuitive to hiring prostitutes.”

John caught himself with his mouth gaping open. He could not think of a single thing to reply. He needn't, though, because Sherlock apparently had more to say. He had scooted forward in his chair, was sitting on the edge of it now, closely observing John.

“And masurb-. Masturbation does not cut it for you, not completely. Not even with the additional stimulus of watching porn.”

“Sherlock, for fuck's sake!” John exclaimed. “Just what the hell do you know about my wanking habits!”

Right after he'd said it, he regretted it, remembering who he was dealing with.

“No, wait,” he hurried to add, holding up a finger in warning. Please don't answer that.”

He rubbed his eyes, trying to sober up a bit. This conversation was truly insane.

“Surely this subject doesn't embarrass you, John?” Sherlock seemed to be absolutely sincere in his question. “It's perfectly normal, you know.”

“I know it's normal!” John exclaimed, feeling quite annoyed all of a sudden. “I'm a grown man, for fuck's sake, and a doctor! But what's decidedly _not_ normal, is your flatmate keeping some sort of spreadsheet of it all!”

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. “I don't keep a spreadsheet,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Good!” John snapped. “Frankly, I can't understand why that particular information is even allowed to clutter up your mind. I thought you said you deleted irrelevant things? You've deleted the solar system, so...” his voice trickled off. This was too weird.

Sherlock mumbled something, too quiet to hear. He was also looking down, intensely staring at his glass and the content thereof. Maybe for once, he sensed that he had crossed a line? The thought made John feel oddly vindictive.

“What was that?” John said rather loudly. He wasn't going to let Sherlock so easily off the hook this time.

“I said, it's not irrelevant.” Sherlock was still mumbling, still not looking up.

John tried for a moment to make sense of this, but quickly decided he couldn't.

“How the hell is my jerking off relevant to you?”

For a long moment, Sherlock just kept looking down at his drink. In a swift motion, he then finished it off in one big gulp, although the glass had been almost half full.

“Let's talk about something else.”

“No way, my friend.” John was smiling now, feeling like he was winning for once. It was unusual, to say the least, to see Sherlock this squirmingly uncomfortable. He decided to step it up a notch.

“Alright, if you won't answer that; tell me this, then. Tell me exactly what you think you know about my cleaning the rifle-” he chuckled, “...flogging the log... shaking the snake-”

“Stop it! For God's sake, John, get a grip.”

John laughed. “Yeah, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Gripping the-”

“Shut up!”

John leaned forward, very close into Sherlock's personal space, causing him to sit back as far as possible in his chair.

“Well, well, well – look at you... And I thought you just said it was absolutely normal. You're blushing like a school girl!”

“I'm not!” Sherlock looked annoyed. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

John leaned back in his chair again, but kept his eyes provocatively on Sherlock.

“But you are,” he said. “Why? Why is this embarrassing you, Sherlock, I haven't known you to be the blushing type. Come on. Tell me what you've deduced.”

Sherlock made a sudden move to reach for the bottle. He refilled John's glass, then his own. Through something of a miracle, almost all of the liquid made it into the tumblers.

“Not so much deduced as observed,” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. John felt a nervous flutter in his stomach, despite having been the one who had pushed this.

“Your frequency is fairly consistent, with a median rate of five times a week, when you aren't dating or working double shifts. Low is three and high is nine times in a seven day period, with a rather even distribution of location between bed and shower. Although you do tend to prefer the bed, usually at night or early morning, lying on your back with your knees slightly up and out. When you do it in the shower, you are almost always standing up, leaning back against the tiles.” He raised his tumbler, took another sip.

John was starting to regret this, but at the same time, he was very curious to hear what else Sherlock might have figured out.

“You use flannels to clean up the ejaculate, you stuff the used ones down the bottom of the hamper and you think I don't notice.” For the first time, Sherlock flashed a quick smile. “Which of course, I do.”

By now, John felt his cheeks burn. He licked his lips, tried to look unaffected.

“Alright,” he said. His voice came out weaker than he had hoped. So far, every single thing Sherlock had said had been correct. “Go on, then. I'm sure you've got more.”

“Sometimes, particularly in between girlfriends, you use toys. You keep them hidden – or so you think – in your underwear drawer.”

“Wait! You've gone through my underwear drawer! Sherlock, that's actually quite the invasion of my personal space. You have no right-”

“Relax, John,” Sherlock interrupted. “I only did it once, and only out of pure necessity.”

“What kind of necessity! I can't bloody think of anything that would justify-”

“I had run out of clean pants. I had to borrow a pair of yours,” Sherlock said with a dead straight expression.

John put a hand over his already flushed face. “God, Sherlock, you borrowed my pants?! Do you realize that's even more intrusive than-”

“Let it go, John. We're getting off track.” John sat back again, leaned his head against the back of the chair. The scotch was really starting to hit him now. He felt the room spinning slightly.

“I could go on for a while about the technicalities, but perhaps we should move on to the details that require more deduction than observation?”

“Such as..?”

“What you think about when you do it, for instance,” Sherlock said, and John felt the blush on his cheeks intensify.

“How could you possibly know what I... you're no mind reader, of that I am sure.”

“You know better than to underestimate me, John. Of course I know what turns you on.”

“What, then?” John heard himself ask weakly.

“You like it a bit... dirty. Rough.” John struggled not to avert his eyes now. This was getting way too personal. He didn't say anything. His throat felt dry. Sherlock kept talking.

“You like dominance. Power. To be in full control.” Sherlock was looking straight at John again, his eyes unwavering. There was a glimpse of something in his eyes now, something John couldn't remember seeing before. He noticed himself inhaling, audibly, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

It was one thing if Sherlock knew how often he jerked off, but quite another matter that he apparently also knew about the fantasies that John had never told anybody about.

“The women you've been with, John... they were too weak for you. They couldn't match you, didn't give you enough of a challenge. Mary was an exception, she was strong enough, but other things were lacking-” Sherlock's voice was darker than usual when he spoke, raspy, perhaps it was from the drinking. “And after she shot me, you completely lost your attraction to her. I would be surprised if you even could get it up after that.”

“I'd rather not talk about her tonight, Sherls. Chapter closed. Book finished.”

This caused Sherlock to laugh; a short, glimmering chuckle.

“ _Sherls?”_ he repeated, lingering on every part of the word. “Where the hell did that come from?”

John laughed a little, too. It felt good, breaking the awkward tension that had been building up between them as Sherlock had rattled off his far too accurate deductions.

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “Since you obviously know me far more intimately than I was aware, I guess I felt a nickname would be appropriate.”

“You mean now that you know that I know you in the biblical sense?” sniggered Sherlock, his pronunciation more than a bit slurred. It caused John to giggle for a while.

“No. No, you don't 'know me in the biblical sense'. That would require more than observation and deduction, no matter how brilliant, I'm afraid.”

John shifted in his chair as he spoke. He noticed in passing that this discussion seemed to have affected him a slight bit more than he'd been aware of in the moment. As discreetly as he could, he put his hand to his crotch, and very quickly moved things around a bit through his jeans.

Of course Sherlock noticed. And of course he had to comment on it, too, the annoying git.

“This turns you on,” he said, his voice nothing but a smiling, teasing whisper.

“No it doesn't.” John replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. _Damn it._

Sherlock turned his gaze away from John's eyes, and instead directed it, in a most obvious way, directly at John's crotch. The worst part of it all was that it only caused John's jeans to strain a bit more. Damn it damn it damn it.

“Oh, but it does,” Sherlock replied, still smiling. John thought he'd better try to turn this situation around, right now. And as usual, the best strategy would be to own it.

“Alright, so maybe it does. So what. I guess you missed that talking about sex is also on my list of turn-ons.” He met Sherlock's gaze and was very pleased to see that he'd managed to get him to waver. Only for less than a second, but still. A small victory. He was going to take back control of this thing.

“So... what about you then, Mister Sherlock Holmes...” He stared into Sherlock's eyes, putting all his effort into not smiling. Sherlock blinked a few times, a surefire sign he was feeling insecure. It made John very pleased with himself.

“What about me?” Sherlock asked when John didn't finish the question. John thought he was trying to appear a whole lot cockier than he was probably feeling.

John leaned forward in his chair again, drawing a deep breath to ask his friend a question he'd never thought he'd pose.

“Do you ever do it, Sherlock? Do you touch yourself?” He spoke softly, felt himself still smiling.

“Don't be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock snapped, but his voice was trembling ever so slightly. “What the hell do you think?”

“I'd say yes,” John kept speaking with that soft, low voice. “As a doctor, no, hell, as a man – no. As a living, breathing person to another, I'd say of course you do. But then...” his voice trailed off, he kept looking at Sherlock, considering.

“But then what!” Sherlock had a deep furrow between his eyebrows now, annoyance radiating from his eyes. “Why would I be so bloody different!”

“Ah,” John smiled. “So you do do it, then. Fine. Good. I've been wondering. It's just that you never, ever say anything even remotely suggestive of a sexual interest...” John's voice trailed off. He felt that he was overstepping some boarders, now. Still, it was difficult to give up, this golden opportunity to find out more about this hidden part of Sherlock.

“Just because I don't care for the effects that love and sexual relations have on most people, and rarely find anyone attractive - it doesn't mean that I don't suffer under the same basic hormonal influences as everyone else.”

“Rarely,” John said in a low voice. His lips felt dry, he licked them again. “That is not synonymous with never.”

“Brilliant, John,” Sherlock scoffed. “I'm beginning to think I have misjudged your mental capacities.”

John laughed. He liked when Sherlock was like this. Sarcastic. Funny.

“Who, then?” he asked. “Who did you last find attractive? In a sexual way, to be clear.”

John's attention was fixed one hundred percent on Sherlock and his responses to this question. He was, to be honest, dying to know. This was something he had been wondering about since the very first day that they met, never coming even remotely as close to an answer as he was right this second.

Sherlock looked away, and for a brief moment, John felt bad about pushing him like this. Then he remembered all the stuff that Sherlock already had figured out about him, and decided that it was only fair to even the score a bit.

“As I said, it rarely happens,” Sherlock finally replied. He did not look as confident as he had just a few minutes ago.

“Chicken,” John said. “So how about this, then: what do you think about when you jack off?”

Saying it out loud sent another tingling sensation down through John's lower regions. He could see it in front of him. Sherlock, naked, stretching out that lean, perfectly toned body on his bed, stroking himself, bucking his hips up as he was getting close to climax-

John was breathing harder. He downed the remainder of his drink, tried his very best to refocus.

The question had caused Sherlock to wince, but he'd quickly regained his nonchalant expression, the one he was so very good at making.

“Oh, you know,” Sherlock began, surprisingly relaxed. John was on full alert by now. “I think about the usual stuff – how many decimals of pi that I can remember, or the final proof to Fermat's Theorem – things like that.”

“You're kidding,” John said, dumbfounded. It probably shouldn't come as a surprise that Sherlock would wank off to insane things.

“Yes _of course_ I'm kidding! John, seriously. Has marriage made you this much stupider?” Sherlock laughed out loud, delighted at his own hilarity. John leaned forward, smacked him where he could reach – which turned out to be his right thigh – a bit harder than customary for playful slaps between friends.

“Ow, what the fuck!” Sherlock called out, louder than necessary, of course, like the drama queen he was.

But there was something in his reaction, something in his eyes, that made something in John click - a sudden understanding, a newfound confidence. The rather large amount of liquor he'd been consuming helped him greatly to dare to use it.

“Oh,” he said, a teasing smile on his lips. He wanted to make Sherlock squirm, wanted it badly. It was his turn now.

“Oh what?” Sherlock asked, a small frown between his brows.

“You liked that, didn't you...” John did not break his intensive eye contact.

“I liked what, exactly?” Sherlock asked, but his voice was trembling. John smiled. This was going to be fun.

“You liked me slapping you like that. You enjoy being a little bit... manhandled, isn't that right... _Sherls_?”

“That's utterly ridiculous,” Sherlock said, but John could tell there was no real conviction in his voice.

“You liked my hand touching you, don't deny it. You liked me smacking your thigh, making that fine skin sting a little...”

John noticed Sherlock looking increasingly more uncomfortable, and that only spurred him on. He was certain now that he was on to something, and he was not going to let it go.

“I know what you'd get off to.” John smiled, still leaned forward in his chair, while Sherlock was doing the opposite, pressing back into his chair to maximize the distance from John.

“What?” Sherlock asked, his voice weak, almost nothing but a whisper.

“You, my friend... you'd fantasize about someone taking over, holding you down... telling you what to do... taking their pleasure...”

John could really visualize it. He'd had these thoughts about Sherlock before, ever so fleetingly, never really allowed himself to indulge in them. But now, here – this was a different story.

“You want someone to relieve you of all obligations – someone who will help you shut down that great mind of yours for a while... isn't that so?”

When he'd finished talking, he noticed the change in Sherlock. He was sitting absolutely still in his chair; breathing heavier, his eyes were oddly glazed over in a way that John had never seen before. Only then did John truly realize the effect his words had had on Sherlock. The understanding was both a bit unsettling and quite the power kick. It was also, he discovered, a massive turn on.

It must have been largely fueled by the alcohol in his bloodstream, because when he thought about it later, in a sober condition, John just couldn't fathom he'd had the guts – the insanity? - to do what he'd actually done.

He sat up at the edge of his seat, and then, in a swift motion, leaned over the space between them and put his hand firmly down between Sherlock's legs. As he had suspected, he felt his cock hard underneath the trousers. Sherlock gasped loudly, the sound filled the otherwise silent room.

“Now who's turned on?” John said in a voice that was only a whisper. He smiled.

Sherlock swallowed audibly. His eyes were flicking between John's hand and face. John saw the stunned expression on his face, noticed the way he instinctively let his legs fall out more to the sides in response to the touch.

John dared to move his hand, ran it ever so slowly, up and down Sherlock's length, and Sherlock bucked up his hips to the touch, let out a soft groan.

“John-”

John saw Sherlock closing his eyes for a second, not making any attempt to move away from the touch. He was breathing so heavily that John could actually see his chest heaving underneath the thin shirt.

John slid out of his chair until he was kneeling on the floor, right in front of Sherlock. He still held his hand on Sherlock's hard cock, and now he closed his hand around it as best as the barrier of fabric would allow. He squeezed his fist tighter around it, felt it grow rock hard in his hand. The sensation went straight to his own cock, he felt it straining uncomfortably against his jeans now. He looked up, made contact with Sherlock's half shut eyes.

“God, that feels good,” whispered Sherlock, sending a sharp wave of arousal through John.

“So you like this?” he whispered back, mostly to get to hear him say the words again.

“Yes...” Sherlock seemed to have some trouble meeting John's eyes.

“I promise you, this is nothing compared to what I could do if you'd let me,” John said. He pumped his cock a bit faster, causing Sherlock to move his hips in a strong upward motion.

Sherlock was panting heavily, John could tell he was already very aroused. He wondered fleetingly whether Sherlock had ever done anything like this before.

“What – ah- what could you do, then?” Sherlock whispered.

John smiled. “What would you like me to do?”

“I don't- I don't know exactly-” Sherlock's voice trailed off again.

The power rush John got from feeling, for once, ahead of the game compared to Sherlock – it was as big of a turn on as the physical sensation of Sherlock's erection beneath his hand.

“Sherlock...” he asked, trying hard not to let this shine through in his voice and actions. “Sherlock, tell me... have you done this before?”

The reply came after a three second pause.

“No.”

The whispered word, the shortclipped confession – it sent another sharp wave of arousal through John's groin. He had often wondered about this, suspected it would be the case, but still, it was hard to grasp. The fact that someone like Sherlock could have made it through almost forty years of life without ever even getting a hand job – it would require some processing on John's part to take in.

“Never? Not with anyone? Not even this?” he couldn't help but ask, but regretted it when he saw the pink flush on Sherlock's cheeks intensify.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean – it's just – it's just that someone with your looks-” John still had his hand on Sherlock's dick, but he had stopped the motion and felt it gradually soften. It was unfortunate to break the mood, but this was a conversation that he needed to get out of the way before he could take it any further.

“I've hardly lacked opportunities,” Sherlock said and there was a little bit of his usual pride back in his voice, John was glad to notice it. He suddenly got aware of the weirdness in the fact of his hand still on Sherlock's dick, and slowly removed it, placed it on his thigh instead.

“Of course you haven't,” John smiled gently. “But why... haven't you ever felt like you wanted to..?”

John was still kneeling on the floor, nestled in between Sherlock's legs, and although that certainly was a weird position to have a heart-to-heart talk in, he was reluctant to start stirring too much now. No, not when they had this subject out in the open, talking about things they had never, ever touched upon before.

“I guess I've just never seen the point. That, and the fact that I don't like people touching me.” Sherlock was looking down at John's hands on his thighs. John immediately removed them, suddenly feeling awful, like he'd forced himself onto Sherlock. Oh Christ.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Sherlock, I'm so sorry. This was really poor judgment on my part, I, er- I promise you it won't happen aga-”

“John-” Sherlock interrupted. “I expressed myself poorly. I meant to say that I usually don't like people touching me. You, however-”

John looked up, met his eyes. They still looked heavy, hooded.

“Yes..?” John felt confused now, and he hoped Sherlock would be able to clear it up. After a silence that felt like it'd stretched out for far too long, Sherlock replied in a near whisper.

“I like it when you touch me.”

John's lips felt dry, he nervously licked them. “You do?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met again, and John felt certain now that it was arousal he was seeing in Sherlock.

“I see,” he managed to say. “Well as it happens, I like touching you.” He smiled and saw Sherlock blush some more, creating a wave of affection in him for this beautiful, strange, unpredictable man in front of him.

Maybe in a way, he'd always known this was going to happen. At least, on some level, he'd always wanted it to. He'd just never known it was a possibility.

What if he'd realized sooner? Before his wedding. Before the fall. That first night, at Angelo's... he'd felt it, and even though he was rarely attracted to men, that had been one of those times. Instant attraction, strong, intense. But Sherlock had shot him down and after that, well... perhaps he should have been more open for signs of a change of heart. He'd just never thought-

“If that's the case,” Sherlock roused him from his thoughts, “then perhaps... if it's not too much to ask...”

John met his eyes again, smiled. “Would you like me to touch you again?”

Sherlock's reply was barely audible.

“If you don't mind?”

“On the contrary,” John replied, then proceeded to put both his palms back on Sherlock's thighs. He began moving up and down, firmly kneading the strong muscles underneath the fabric of Sherlock's trousers.

“Like this?” he asked.

Sherlock inhaled sharply at the renewed touch, then exhaled slowly through his o-shaped lips.  
“Yes... and maybe also, ah, a little bit higher up.”

John felt his own dick starting to fill again at the thought of touching Sherlock there once more.  
He let his hands continue upwards, slowly, teasingly getting closer to where he knew Sherlock wanted to be touched.

Sherlock had begun to move his hips very slightly, John reckoned it was probably completely instinctual. He felt himself smiling. The alcohol acted as a filter, keeping away most of the thoughts John figured he would probably have about all this happening if he'd been sober. He wasn't, though, and it was easy to just relax into the moment.

John let one hand fall heavy down onto Sherlock's cock, and felt a sense of pride when he found it hard and hot. This time, Sherlock briefly leaned his head back and moaned. Hearing this sound from Sherlock, this sexual, needy exclamation, made John shiver. He let his fingertips play along Sherlock's shaft, then pressed his hand down harder against it.

Sherlock had been sitting so still in his chair, almost frozen except for his slightly swaying hips, but now, he moved to put his hands on John's shoulders.

John felt a strong desire to make this really good for Sherlock. He looked up, caught Sherlock's gaze. It was at once hazy and intense, and all of a sudden, John knew what he wanted to do.

He cupped his hand over Sherlock's erection.

“Sherlock,” he said, his voice sounded gravelly and hoarse when he spoke. “I know we've both had far too much to drink tonight, and I don't want you to do anything you might regret later. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said before John had even finished the last sentence completely. “Yes, I want this, John. I _really_ want this.”

His eyes were distant, and John intensely hoped it wasn't just because of the alcohol. He was far from sober himself, but yet felt convinced, deep down within himself, that he would not ever regret this. Not as long as Sherlock wanted it, too, and it certainly seemed that way right now. It all just felt so bloody right; nothing more than a natural progression of the most intimate friendship he'd ever had.

Hearing the reassurance, John couldn't hold back any longer. He already saw it in his mind, and the thoughts had made him rock hard. Resting his palms on Sherlock's thighs, he leaned forward, until his lips were touching Sherlock's cock through the fabric.

As he had expected, this drew a sharp breath from Sherlock.

“John...” he said, it sounded both like a question and a plea.

John inhaled, and the unmistakable scent of male arousal sent spikes of want through his entire body. He hadn't done this in years and years. Had not felt the desire to have sex with another man, not since those couple of drunken nights in college, and he had most certainly never felt it as strongly as he did for Sherlock in this very moment.

He exhaled, sending hot air through the fabric and Sherlock's breath hitched.

In a quick motion, John unfastened Sherlock's belt. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled down the zipper of Sherlock's trousers, snapped the button open.

“Oh my god,” Sherlock whispered above him.

John didn't look up. He slid his fingertips down the waistband of his pants, drew them teasingly back and forth across the soft skin of Sherlock's belly for a while. Then he used one hand to grab the waistband, pulled it down, and with the other, he reached down to free Sherlock's cock and balls, got it all out in the open.

Sherlock moaned loadly at this, and John could hardly believe it was real. He stared at the sight that was right in front of him. Sherlock's dick was filled so hard it was pressing down to his belly; pale, straight and perfectly proportioned to the rest of his body. His testicles were already drawn up tightly to his body, and the tip was glistening with pre-cum.

John figured that this in all likelihood was going to be a very brief affair, however he went about it. He quickly pulled off Sherlock's trousers and pants, tossed them aside next to the chair, then turned back to look at Sherlock again.

“You're gorgeous,” John said, barely recognizing his own voice. He tried to clear it, because it felt difficult to speak. “Absolute perfection.”

Sherlock didn't reply, but kept staring down, John felt his gaze intensely locked on him and what he was doing. When John closed his hand around Sherlock's naked hardness and gave it a few pumps with his fist, Sherlock let out a groan that made John do the same. He was painfully hard himself now, and he decided to let go of Sherlock for the briefest of moments, in order to unzip his jeans and relieve a bit of the intense pressure. He wasn't sure Sherlock even noticed.

John _wanted_ , oh, how he wanted. So much and right now, all at once. He wanted to keep Sherlock's hard cock in his hand, feel it hot and moving, stroke him until he would come. But there was also something else he wanted to do, and he did not want to lose the opportunity. He wanted to do it for his own sake, and he wanted to do it for Sherlock. Wanted to feel his reaction, wanted to make him squirm.

A single drop of pre-cum trickled down from the glans of Sherlock's cock, made it's way down the shaft. On his belly, the skin was already wet and shining. John bent forward, reached out his tongue to let it meet the impossibly thin, soft skin of Sherlock's dick. He licked up the drop, reveled in the taste.

“Nng, oh, ah!” Sherlock bucked his hips up, lifted his arse momentarily up from his seat, moaned and shivered and whimpered.

John kept working his tongue up and down Sherlock's shaft, but smiled internally at the reaction.

“John, oh god, John!”

Sherlock's words and the intense intimacy of it all went straight to John's dick. He reached down a hand inside his pants, gave it a few rapid strokes just to ease a bit of the maddening tension that was building up.

Sherlock tasted – good. Clean, salty, sexy. Impossibly arousing. John let his pointed tongue swirl around the glans, and when he felt Sherlock's hands finding their way into his hair, he thought for a second that he was going to be the one who'd come first. Luckily, it subsided.

He'd actually gotten himself off just a couple of hours earlier – in the shower, leaned against the tiles, just like Sherlock in some freaky way had managed to deduce – and for that he was grateful, now. Would make him last substantially longer.

John looked up, caught Sherlock's eye, gave his cock a couple of decisive strokes. Sherlock moved his body to every little thing; John thought it was amazing to see how incredibly responsive he was.

He leaned forward again, and this time, he opened his mouth, let Sherlock's cock slide in as far as he could comfortably accommodate. He felt Sherlock trembling. John sucked tentatively, and this caused Sherlock to moan so loadly John faintly worried that Mrs. Hudson would be coming worriedly barging up the stairs within soon.

When John hollowed his cheeks to increase the suction and then swallowed around Sherlock a few times, Sherlock suddenly pulled hard on his hair, simultaneously crying out a short, stuttered, ' _John!_ '.

Before John had a chance to realize what was happening, his mouth and throat was flooded with the first strong spurt of semen. He had never swallowed cum before, but now found himself in a position where he actually felt that was the right thing to do.

He didn't want Sherlock to in any way feel rejected or ashamed, and also, he surprised himself in feeling that he didn't mind, not one bit. So, he swallowed, swallowed again, kept Sherlock's cock in this mouth until the jerking and bucking had stopped completely, then he let go. Above him, Sherlock was leaning back in the chair, panting violently.

John wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, then slowly got up, leaned over Sherlock in his chair. Sherlock opened his eyes, and John noticed he looked a bit lost.

“Wow, Sherlock-” John smiled, reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. He wished he could find a way to make that furrow of concern and confusion between Sherlock's eyebrows go away.

“John-” Sherlock began, his voice hoarse and not carrying properly. “John, er, I, I'm terribly sorry for-”  
He was blinking rapidly.

“No,” John quickly stopped him. “No. Sherlock, there's nothing to be sorry for. That was, just, wow, yeah. So amazing. Such a turn on. You're magnificent.”

“You... you didn't, er, mind, then? I didn't mean to-”

John smiled. “I loved it. Loved everything about it, okay?”

Sherlock was staring intensely right in his eyes. Then, abruptly, he leaned forward, put a large hand behind John's neck, and dragged him into a hard, needy kiss. It took John a very short moment before he kissed him back.

Surprisingly, Sherlock turned out to be quite a good kisser. _Why is that?_ John wondered, and felt a surge of jealousy rush through his chest. He tried to tell himself that this was, of course, absolutely unreasonable on his part. He'd just given Sherlock his very first blow job, hell, even been the first one who'd ever gotten to touch him sexually. So if Sherlock had kissed a few people, that surely was – _but who, though_ , he wondered. Who? Men or women? Or both? For his work or because he wanted to?

So what, John tried to tell himself. Although he couldn't do anything about Sherlock's past, he could possibly affect his future. And what he wanted, without any doubt now, was to make sure Sherlock never kissed anyone else but him. Not ever again. The strength of this feeling surprised him, but it was what it was. That was how he felt.

John was drawn back to the present by Sherlock suddenly placing his hand on John's hip, then wriggling it down under John's jeans, running it over the swell of his arse. The sensation of his warm palm through the thin cotton of his pants, made John's dick quickly come back to the rock hard state that it had been for the last thirty minutes.

“Sherlock-” he panted, wishing so much for Sherlock to help him out, to put a hand on his aching cock. But maybe that was too much to hope for, at this point, with a partner as inexperienced as Sherlock.

Sherlock now had both his hands on John's arse, as John was leaning over him in the chair. It turned the kisses more frantic. Still kissing, John got up on his feet and struggled to free himself from his jeans. He decided to leave the pants on for now, not wanting to overwhelm Sherlock in any way.

Not restricted by his jeans anymore, John got up on the chair with Sherlock, straddled him, leaned forward to kiss his neck. He was beginning to feel a desperate need for release.

“Sherlock, I- I need to come – do you mind if I-”

John put his hand on the front of his pants. They were tenting severely, a large damp spot had formed on the fabric. The touch, the hint of possible release, made him shudder. Sherlock met his eye.

“John... er, can I...? Can I try?” Sherlock was looking questioningly at him, and had moved his right hand to rest on his hip bone, so close to his dick but not touching.

“Oh god, yes please,” he replied, his voice all scruffy and dark.

“Take off your pants, John,” Sherlock whispered, and John did so, and then quickly got back in the position he'd been. He noticed Sherlock staring at his cock, not making any effort to conceal his apparently intense interest. He didn't say a word, just kept staring, probably filing away the information, and John silently hoped he liked what he was seeing. Usually, his partners did; he had no insecurities in that area.

When Sherlock finally touched his cock for the first time, John couldn't hold back a moan. He sat up more, his arse between Sherlock's thighs, and looked down as Sherlock tentatively was beginning to move his hand. The feeling was surreal.

At first, Sherlock's movements were a little awkward and fumbling, but not unexpectedly, he turned out to be a very quick study. He seemed to pick up on every little sign from John and adjusted what he was doing accordingly. As John felt himself hitting the next plateau of pleasure, he hazily marveled about how this hand job was rapidly shaping up to be one of the best he'd ever received.

 _Wait_ , he then thought to himself – _what if_ – Sherlock only said he'd never let anyone else touch him – but that didn't necessarily have to mean that he'd never touched someone else like this-

And once again, that dark and roaring jealousy gripped him. He was surprised by it, not used to feeling this level of possessiveness. Maybe his feelings for Sherlock had been more complicated, all along, than he'd realized?

John focused back on the rising tension in his body, the tingling excitement, the intense feeling of Sherlock's – _Sherlock's!_ \- large hand, pumping and twisting. He leaned his head down on Sherlock's neck, kissed it sloppily, felt the salty taste of his sweaty skin.

“Fuck, Sherlock, fuck,” he panted. He was holding on to Sherlock's shoulders, and now couldn't help but to start rocking his hips into Sherlock's tight fist. “Feels so damn good.”

As he moved his hips, he came in contact with Sherlock's groin and was pleasantly surprised to notice he was already hard again. John reached down a hand and put it on top of him. As he touched him, Sherlock's cock immediately grew harder in his hand, making them both groan. It was amazing, being so intimately close to Sherlock.

Sherlock moaned at John's touch, his grip around John faltering. Although John was absolutely aching to come by now, it still felt worth it. Worth seeing Sherlock in this state, completely undone, sweaty and tousled and panting.

Sherlock had been very quiet, not saying anything apart from making all those wonderful sounds that made John tingle. But now, suddenly, he looked John straight in the eye and spoke. And what he said sent a sharp shiver through John's body.

“I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, his eyes dark and intense.

It took John a moment to compose himself enough to respond. He was aware that the words had sent his pulse absolutely racing.

“Oh my god, Sherlock. Bloody hell.” He fought to clear his mind enough to find the right words.

He still felt the effect of the liqueur they had been liberally pouring down their throats earlier, although the recent activities had made him sober up – or so it felt, at least. John was, however, wise enough to know that neither one of them were completely up to their normal mental capacities.

“Sherlock, I don't think that's a good idea. We've both had far too much to drink tonight, and since you've, er – you've never-”

“Don't, John. Please.” Sherlock looked at him. He was still holding John's dick, very slowly stroking it. “Listen to me. I want it. I want it so much I lack the words to explain it to you. Just because I'm inexperienced with this sort of thing – it doesn't make me less capable of knowing what I want.”

John was just returning his gaze, not really knowing what to say. In the back of his mind – no, actually right up front – a mad desire was gaining force. Good Lord, how it turned him on. Christ, how he wanted to do what Sherlock was asking. It took him all the self control he could muster to not physically throw himself at Sherlock right this moment.

“Or is it that you don't want to?” Sherlock asked, and John noticed a hint of worry – or was it embarrassment? - in his eyes.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock-” he had to pause to lick his lips, his throat felt dry. “God, I would really want that too, you know. I... I'm just worried it might be too much. Something you'll regret. Or that I might hurt you. This is so perfect, just like it is. I don't need anything more, I hope you know that?”

Sherlock was still breathing heavily, rocking his hips slowly into John's fist that he was still providing.

“But I need it, John,” he said, and John felt how the resistance he was trying to put up, was rapidly melting away.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“You asked me before what I think about, when I-” Sherlock paused briefly, averted his eyes. “This is what I think about. I think about you. You touching me like this, or...” Sherlock looked up again, met John's eyes.

“..or you fucking me. That's what I fantasize about, John. And I've even used, you know-” Sherlock paused. A pink flush spread across his already flustered cheeks,

“.. _.toys_. So it wouldn't be a completely new, er, sensation for me-” His voice trickled off, he was now blushing intensely.

And with that, John's last piece of self restraint was squashed. Alongside the desire, he also felt his heart ache with love and affection for this man beneath him in the chair. For his best friend. For Sherlock. _His Sherlock?_ He found himself strongly hoping so. He leaned forward to kiss him, they both shivered when their tongues met again. John pulled away.

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure you want this? Want this for yourself?”

A victorious smile spread across Sherlock's face. “Yes,” he said in a half whisper. “Yes!”

John smiled back at him. “Alright. Bedroom then. Come.”

He got up out of the chair, reached out his hand to help Sherlock up on his feet. With shaky legs and beating heart, he made his way towards Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was holding his hand, following right behind him.

 _My God_ , John hazily thought as they moved. _He's going to let me fuck him_.

The second they'd entered the bedroom, Sherlock stopped and pulled John close to his body, tilted his head down to kiss him. John put his arms around him, let his tongue slip in between Sherlock's slightly parted lips. They were both naked from the waist down, but Sherlock still had his silk shirt on and John had his t-shirt. John noticed that Sherlock's shirt had been stained from their earlier activities. Without breaking the kissing, he started to hastily unbutton it. Sherlock gasped when John decisively let it slide off his shoulders, fall to the floor.

“God, you're beautiful,” John said, running his hands across Sherlock's pale but muscular chest. He had to break the touch when Sherlock was pulling on his t-shirt, trying to get it over John's head. John freed himself, and then they were both standing naked in front of each other.

Sherlock's eyes were darting all over John's body, completely unabashedly, causing John to smile a little. There was not a trace of the keeping up appearances that John had often found with other partners, no, nothing like that at all. Sherlock just seemed to be doing exactly what he wanted to do, nothing more, nothing less. John found it liberating and very endearing to see.

They'd been standing up, kissing and caressing each other's bodies for a while, when Sherlock suddenly let go and spun around. John noticed that his movements still were a bit uncoordinated, a bit unstable, but all in all he seemed to be less inebriated than earlier. Good. That was good. And John knew he wasn't exactly one hundred percent sober himself.

Before John knew what was happening, Sherlock had crawled up on the edge of the bed, positioned himself on all fours with his arse towards John. He turned his head to look expectantly at John, who had to try his best not to laugh.

“Sherlock, er, what- what are you doing?”

“What do you think I'm doing,” Sherlock said a little bit irritably. “I'm ready!”

Now John couldn't really hold back a slight chuckle.

“Er, no. No, you're not, love,” he smiled, causing Sherlock to furrow his eyebrows in frustration.

John got up on the bed, laid down and pulled on Sherlock until he abandoned his awkward position and was lying down next to John instead.

“Come here, you,” he mumbled, and when their lips met again, John immediately felt the tension between them rising again. He actually couldn't remember if he'd ever responded this strongly to someone before; it was as if their bodies were meant to be together like this.

He reached around and put a hand on Sherlock's back, let it slowly find it's way down to his naked buttocks. As before, every new thing he did caused Sherlock to make a little sound or to shiver, and John loved being able to read his reactions so clearly.

As their kisses deepened, their bodies were starting to move. They were swaying into each other in the same rhythm, and John relaxed, allowing his instincts take over. He needed more, and got up to lie on top of Sherlock, supporting his weight on his elbows. When their hard dicks bumped together for the first time, both he and Sherlock let out some sort of primitive groans.

“Fuck, Sherlock, fuck... You feel amazing,” he whispered into Sherlock's ear, and then took the opportunity to nibble and suck on his earlobe. That earned him yet another one of those rumbling, low moans from Sherlock, and John thought for a second about how different it felt from being with a woman. He loved the masculine energy, the strong body below him, and truth be told, he also found it quite a turn on to be able to dominate another man.

Thinking about that made him want more. Remembering their talk earlier in the evening, he experimentally put his hands on Sherlock's wrists and lifted them, held them down over Sherlock's head as he was lying on his back beneath John. He leaned over him, kissed him, sucked on that plush lower lip, and at the same time, continued to let his erection slide, wet and heavy, against Sherlock's.

All this seemed to have a remarkable effect on Sherlock, and John could feel his entire body tense up more. He was violently bucking his hips up against John's, he was twisting and squirming and panting, but did not make any effort to break the grip of John's hands on his wrists.

So far, Sherlock hadn't been uttering that many words, but now, he spoke.

“Oh god, John,” he moaned, and the arousal in his voice made John feel dizzy. “John, yes, yes-”

With alcohol and arousal both working against him, John felt that he was beginning to lose his ability to take it nice and slow, as he had promised himself. He let go of Sherlock's wrists, and slid off his body to lay down next to him instead. In a decisive motion, he grabbed Sherlock's muscular thigh and pulled it over his own. He put one hand on the nape of Sherlock's neck, kissed him, and then put the index and middle finger of his other hand into Sherlock's mouth, encouraging him to suck them. The visual of this made John's dick twitch.

Wanting to test out a little bit more about Sherlock's response to dominance, John gripped the soft curls at the back of his head and held them firmly. At the same time, he began to slide his fingers suggestively in and out of Sherlock's mouth. It pleased him to no end to see how these two things combined, turned Sherlock into an absolute trembling mess before him. His moans turned into whimpers; he was holding his body very still except for his hips, insistently grinding against John's belly.

John couldn't resist letting his two fingers push further in, stopping just before the point where he thought Sherlock would gag. He watched him carefully for his reactions, vigilant of any sign of discomfort, but there were none. Instead, suddenly, Sherlock reached up a hand and put it on top of the one John was using - not to stop him, but to encourage him to keep going. Sherlock's eyes were distant and intense, all at once, as he was taking John's fingers in his mouth so obediently, and John's entire body felt on fire. 

Fingers now wet with spit, John pulled them out of Sherlock's mouth and rapidy reached around him, and in a firm motion, let his fingers find their way in between Sherlock's buttocks. When Sherlock threw his head back and let a shaky exhale escape his lips, John put both fingertips on Sherlock's hole, spreading the spit around it.

“Oh!” was Sherlock's first, startled reaction, and then it quickly turned into a repeated, almost whining, “ah, ah...” Sherlock was curling his upper leg firmly around John's waist, and he kept rocking his whole body slowly into John's.

On their next kiss, John began to massage Sherlock's opening with his thumb. He pushed and teased and poked the strong muscle, and felt Sherlock trying to adjust to the sensation of another person touching him there. John knew how incredibly intimate this could feel, and he was also aware of the difference between sex toys and another person's fingers. Or dick, he thought, and had to grind his erection harder against Sherlock's stomach for some release of the worst tension.

When he felt Sherlock beginning to get used to the touch, John hurried to bring his hand up to his mouth, spat in it without bothering to feel gross about it, and then, quickly, he put the tip of his middle finger against Sherlock's hole, and pushed it in. He felt the muscle cramp around his fingertip, and noticed Sherlock trying hard to relax. He was breathing so fast into John's neck, and John got worried that it was too much, too soon.

“How does this feel?” John whispered into his ear. “Is this alright, do you want me to stop?”

“Oh, god, it's... it's incredible, John. I can't believe this is happening.”

Their eyes met, and John felt the mood between them shift from frantic to something softer.

“I'm so happy it is,” John whispered back, and saw Sherlock's eyes shining with something that looked an awful lot like... like love. He kissed him again, gentler this time, took his time with those soft, beautiful lips.

His finger was in beyond the first knuckle now, and he kept wiggling it about to stretch the muscle more. Sherlock seemed to have found a way to relax into the new sensation, and he was beginning to move his hips to meet John's movements. John felt like he couldn't wait much longer now. His erection was absolutely aching, and he wondered silently how long he was going to be able to last.

Sherlock searched for his eyes. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“Please John... I want you to do what you promised. John-” Sherlock's body was moving so insistently against John, it made him feel dizzy with want. This was really going to happen.

John raised his body up a bit and shot a glance in the direction of Sherlock's nightstand.

“Do you have, er- “ John paused for a second, caught his breath. “We need a condom. And lube.”

“No we don't. I'm clean and I'm sure you are too. Can't you just use saliva? John, I need you, I need you right now.”

“You sure are eager, aren't you?” John smiled through his hazy state. “We _do_ need those things, and luckily, I have both in my bedroom. I'll be right back.”

He got up from the bed. Sherlock's eyes were transfixed on his naked body and John felt a little bit self-conscious. He'd never before walked around completely starkers in their common areas of the flat, and certainly not sporting a massive erection. As fast as he could, he made his exit from the bedroom, and smiled when he heard Sherlock mumble a few frustrated protests about his temporary departure.

Thinking about what was about to happen was more than enough to keep John's fire going while he darted up to his own bedroom, grabbed the bottle of lube and a couple of condoms and then went back down the stairs, taking three steps at the time.

Back in Sherlock's bedroom, they quickly picked up where they'd left off. When John was able to breach Sherlock with two liberally lubed up fingers, he felt a tremble run through Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock was lying down on his back, and John had encouraged him to hold his own legs up, bent by the knees, in order for John to be able to work Sherlock with both his hands.

It was taking some time. Actually, it was taking a whole lot of time, but even though John was starting to feel desperate for his own release, it was more important to make this good for Sherlock. The effects of the liqueur seemed to have really faded by now, and John felt acutely aware of every little thing that was happening. He was holding Sherlock's cock in his left hand while fingering him with his right, but it seemed to be too intense for Sherlock and John stopped the pumping motion, withdrew his hand from his dick.

Sherlock was twisting and turning, and John just couldn't hold back any longer. _My god, was this really happening-_

He leaned forward and grabbed Sherlock's legs, placed them on his shoulders. They felt heavy and densely muscular; so different from the women he'd been with. And he loved it. He bent over and kissed Sherlock's red, swollen lips. Sherlock reached up and wrapped his arms around John's back, stroked his hair and his neck.

“John,” Sherlock whispered in his ear. “Do it.”

“Oh, Sherlock, god, yes-” he panted, and then in a moment of clarity, forced himself to add, “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” came the immediate answer from Sherlock. “Just get on with it already-”

Without giving himself the time to worry about it, John quickly rolled on a condom and proceeded to smear a probably exaggerated amount of lube on himself and around Sherlocks's hole. He then took his dick in hand and guided the glans to Sherlock's hole. Sherlock shivered again.

“John, now,” Sherlock said in his raspy, dark voice. “Fuck me.”

And John closed his eyes and pushed his dick against Sherlock's pink opening.

His first thought was that this was going to be impossible. It was too tight, too tense.

When doing his internship at an ER, John had gotten to witness his share of teared sphincters, often accompanied by condescending sniggers and jokes from the staff behind the poor patient's back. It had left a deeply planted fear in John, both for anal sex in general and also – unfortunately - for gay sex in particular. Several years later, a night out with an open bar and a new found, free spirited girlfriend had been what had helped him get over it enough to start experimenting with that particular region. But now, he got worried. He stilled.

Sherlock was slowly rocking his hips against John, breathing so heavily.

“John, John-” he mumbled. “Come on. I need you-”

“You're really tight. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you.”

“You won't,” Sherlock replied, and then proceeded to push his body down towards John.

“You'll have to tell me to stop if it hurts too much,” said John, knowing very well that no pain would be an unrealistic goal.

“Alright, alright,” Sherlock whispered. “Now fuck me. I want to know what it feels like.”

John closed his eyes and decided to try again. He pushed harder and this time, Sherlock's body yielded to the pressure. The head of John's very hard dick was inside Sherlock, and he held himself absolutely still for a moment. Sherlock had arched his back and cried out, a short, stuttered sound that could have been from pain or from pleasure – most likely both, John figured.

Sherlock started to move his hips again, causing John to move, too. He was using both his hands to keep Sherlock's legs up, and bracing on them, he leaned over to plant a couple of sloppy kisses on that pretty mouth. He began to rock into Sherlock, and for every new motion, he felt his dick slide further in until it was all the way to the hilt.

“God,” Sherlock moaned. “God, god, John-”

John tried not to let Sherlock see, but he desperately needed it faster, harder. He had been hard and so impossibly turned on for longer than he'd been for years, and being inside of Sherlock – he was fucking Sherlock! - oh, it was just more than he could handle.

“It's alright,” Sherlock said. “More. I can take it, John. I want it too.”

John would have thought that Sherlock's deductive skills would have been lessened by being, well, distracted, but apparently, no such luck.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

Sherlock didn't reply, just nodded. John could hear himself swallow. He let go of Sherlock's legs, and Sherlock immediately wrapped them tightly around John's arse and thighs. John leaned over him more, put one hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the other around his neck.

He then began to fuck Sherlock in earnest.

The present moment was all that existed to John now. With every forceful motion of in, then almost out, then in again, he felt himself getting rapidly closer to orgasm. He was slamming into Sherlock now, the smacking sound of skin meeting skin filled his ears.

Under him, Sherlock was moaning; a constant string of needy, high pitched sounds, waxing and waning in rhythm with how John was moving into him. Sherlock had his head thrown back, chin tilted up towards the ceiling, his pale, long neck so beautifully exposed.

Neither of them spoke a word, they had both let their bodies take over completely.

John had wanted to make Sherlock come first. He'd planned to put his hand around his cock very soon, but suddenly, he was overthrown with the intense, tingling first signs of climax. At this point, there was no holding back.

Clinging so hard to Sherlock's shoulder and neck, John squeezed his eyes shut in pure reflex.

“Oh, Sherlock, god, I'm going to come,” he managed to get out, and then, his body tensed up as he felt it happening. He felt the blissful nothingness of release take over him as he came so hard, came inside of Sherlock. From a distant place, he heard Sherlock say something.

“I'm coming, too,” he stuttered out, and then John almost felt like he could have had a second orgasm as he got to witness Sherlock ejaculating, dick untouched, white semen shooting out over Sherlock's sweat soaked chest and belly. John fucked him through it, and then, when he felt Sherlock's body relax and sink back into the mattress, he pulled out.

He quickly removed the condom and then lay down on the bed, put an arm and a leg around Sherlock and pulled him close. They were both panting, their chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Oh my god,” John whispered when he had caught his breath again. “That was amazing. You're amazing. Wow, Sherlock-”

John kissed him, once, a soft kiss on the lips. He had to ask.

“I hope I didn't hurt you?”

“You didn't. Quite the opposite, actually.” Sherlock smiled, a weak smile but his eyes looked happy. “John... that was... incredible. Better than I had expected. I loved it.”

John hugged him a bit harder, let his hand run gently over Sherlock's sweaty back.

“I'm sorry I got a bit carried away... It's just that, oh, fuck. You turn me on like crazy, you know.”

“I do?” asked Sherlock, and John laughed.

“I thought that was fairly obvious to a genius like yourself,” he smiled.

“Yes, well, just wanted to get a confirmation,” said Sherlock. “Maybe then, if it's not too much to ask – maybe we could do that again sometime?”

“Oh, definitely,” John smiled. “Anytime you want.”

He reached over the bed to grab his t-shirt from the floor. With gentle motions, he wiped Sherlock's body clean, and smiled when he discovered that Sherlock apparently had a ticklish spot around his belly button.

Sherlock moved in closer, and John ran his fingers through the dark, soft curls. They kissed again.

As the effects of arousal and booze had worn off, John felt questions begin to surface in his mind. Questions about where this left them now, and what was going to happen in the future. It had all happened so fast, but he already knew that he wanted more.

Not only more of this – the sex – but more of everything. Wanted to be close to Sherlock in everything in life, indefinitely. He hoped with all his being that Sherlock felt the same.

John broke the kissing and pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet. Sherlock looked happy and relaxed and absolutely gorgeous.

“Who could have thought we'd be lying here like this one day?” John marveled.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Everybody, John. They've all assumed – and to be honest, I was hoping they would eventually be correct. Hoping you'd come around.”

He suddenly looked sad, and it made John's stomach turn into little knots. He tried to meet Sherlock's gaze but he was looking down.

“You've thought about us, like this, then?” For some reason, the question felt very intimate to pose, but John figured Sherlock had invited it.

“Yes,” came the quiet reply. “For a long time. Up until you got married.” Sherlock met John's eye, and in his gaze, John could see all the things between them that had never been spoken.

He saw, and he suddenly understood.  
The insight filled him with simultaneous elation and sorrow.

“Oh Sherlock,” he whispered, moving his hands to softly touch his face, his neck, his hair. A stray lock had fallen in front of Sherlock's left eye; John carefully brushed it to the side. “I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I – I could never have imagined you wanted this. Much less wanted it with – me?”

“Don't be stupid. It's always been you, John Watson. Only you. You keep me right.”

John couldn't help but smile a little. He tightened his grip around Sherlock, pulled him in even closer.

“Yes, well, I guess after this, one could hardly claim I keep you straight,” he chuckled.

Sherlock laughed; a soft, rumbling laugh, and John felt a great, warm happiness unfolding in his chest. _Sherlock_ , he thought. _His Sherlock_.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you thought. Comments make me very very happy. Thank you for reading!


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